


Thirty-Seven Days and Four Hours

by Bexinthecity247



Category: The Durrells (TV)
Genre: And Louisa takes care of him, F/M, Has a fight, Spiros gets drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17752931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bexinthecity247/pseuds/Bexinthecity247
Summary: Thirty-seven days and four hours. It had been thirty-seven days and four hours since he’d broken both their hearts, since he’d seen their little bubble of happiness burst taking away any prospect of a future with it.





	Thirty-Seven Days and Four Hours

Thirty-seven days and four hours. It had been thirty-seven days and four hours since he’d broken both their hearts, since he’d seen their little bubble of happiness burst taking away any prospect of a future with it. He knew he should go home to his wife, his children but the allure of the bar, and the bottle proved too much. SHE’D sat here once, shared a daytime drink with him. Then he’d confessed his deepest, inner sinful urge; that he wanted her more than his wife. And he’d seen the flicker of reciprocation in her eyes.

He’d been drowning his sorrows of his absent family then, and now he was back, drowning the sorrow of his ever suffocating and very present family. Not his children, he reminded himself through the drunken haze. Never his children. Just her. His wife. She’d become his jailer and he missed the delicate and English way Louisa said his name. The two women were similar. Both had dark hair and both cared about their family deeply. And both were ultimately kind people. 

But they were different to him. He loved his wife for bringing his children into the world. But she didn’t consume him, like Louisa did. His chest only physically hurt when he was around the English rose. He only felt a stale hollowness when he was with his wife. It had been like that for a long time. Maybe even before he’d met the Durrells. He’d been happy before, he had his children, but he’d never felt like he would suffocate without his wife by his side. But he was suffocating now. And that made him a terrible person. 

He poured himself another ouzo and downed it. The bottle was nearly empty despite it only just reaching one in the afternoon.

“What’s wrong with you?” an old man said from the bar, his words slurring. 

Spiros hunched his shoulders and ignored him. He poured another glass, downed it again and called for another bottle. His words were beginning to slur too but the barman (it could have been Kosti, Spiros wouldn’t recognise him through the haze anyway) brought him another anyway and took his money. 

With every drink he tried to blot out the memory of her, but she kept smiling at him, laughing, and then crying when he’d left her for his wife begrudgingly. He closed his eyes, desperate to stop thinking of her. But then he started to imagine what they could have had. Happiness, holding hands, making love into the early hours of the morning. He could almost feel the weight of her in his arms, the taste of her on his tongue. Could almost hear her cry his name - breathy and delicate. He thought of the way he’d relish her whimpering and trembling beneath his naked body. He’d never wanted anyone as much as he did her.

“I said what’s wrong with you?” the drunk was standing over him and the image of making love to Louisa was banished. Only then did he realised how much he missed the thought.

“Nothing,” Spiros growled, pulling the ouzo to him and foregoing the glass, choosing to drink straight from the bottle. 

“Ack! Whatever,” the drunk ambled off to try and get a free drink from someone else and Spiros watched him go. His head was spinning and he suddenly wondered what he’d do if she walked past. He took a gulp from the bottle and rose to his feet; perhaps it was time to go home. 

His wife would be mad that he hadn’t been out taxiing people around, making money but rather getting drunk, but he didn’t care. He wondered if she knew’d why he was drinking so much, if she’d put two and two together. Part of him wished she would so she could release him. But the children. 

He had every intention of going home but then HER face appeared through his haze and he froze. 

“Eh! Alright! Alright!” Fervent cries from behind him, drew his glance slowly back. A brutish thug was closing in on the old and frail drunk.

“Hey!” Spiros shouted. He was not normally a man for confrontation, hadn’t been since he was a young adult, but the ouzo was starting to outweigh the blood in his veins and everything had become a blur of false bravado and exaggerated strength. He wasn’t sure who threw the first punch but when one connected with his jaw, he felt like he’d been hit by a brick. He hit back, splitting his knuckles, though he wouldn’t notice until later. Blood poured from his lip, where he’d apparently cut it on his teeth. He was sure he’d lost a molar somewhere but the adrenaline alone kept him on his feet. 

The drunk was on the ground, another thug Spiros didn’t recognise either, was raining down blows on him in time to the sound of the man’s agonising cries. Over the ruckus the barman was shouting and there was a smash of glass. Something touched his arm, making it sting and he looked down to see blood on his shirt. He looked up at the thug who’d hit him (and who remarkably had little marks on him despite his repeated blows). He held a broken bottle, and advanced on Spiros. Somewhere in the distance whistles were blowing and then Spiros’ arms were pulled backwards. He saw the thug being wrestled to the ground and he went limp, allowing himself to be carried away. His mind drifted back to her. He was angry, sad and ashamed. But he was also in love, even if he couldn’t admit it out loud and he was once more drowning under the weight of it.

————————————–

“You’ve kept me waiting an hour! What’s going on?” Louisa’s cool exterior had been destroyed completely just from sitting outside the police station for an hour. She used to be strong, it was something her husband had loved about her. But now love had made her weak. Especially a love she didn’t really want to feel anymore.

“Yes, we needed to draw up some paperwork. Sign here.” The constable thrust a pen at her. He was not the same one who’d come to her house at the crack of dawn and demanded she come with him. She took it reluctantly. 

At the other end of the station, in the cells, sat Spiros. His head was propped backwards against the wall, his eyes were closed and every muscle in his body hurt from the fight. And that was before he got to assessing his hangover. He could hear her voice but refused to acknowledge it. 

“He kept saying your name, and his wife wouldn’t come, so… you need to sign here to say he’s released to you.”

He stomach churned. She knew who they meant but she asked anyway.

“Who?” It came out almost as a whisper. A lump grew in her throat. 

“Mr Halikiopoulos.” 

The breath was sucked from her lungs and her eyes swam so badly that she couldn’t see her own signature very well. She’d regained her composure by the time she could hear the clank of a cell door opening and a he was led to her. She gasped at the sight of his face, yearning to reach out and stroke his face. But she couldn’t. This was how things were now.

“Where’s you car?” she asked as they stepped into the sunlight. He screwed his eyes up, the throbbing in his head worsening.

“I left it at Kosti’s bar,” he grumbled. His grey jacket was slung over his shoulder and she hated herself fro thinking about taking him to bed. 

“Keys.” She held out her hand and he looked at it. He wasn’t used to being bossed around and no-one but her would get away with it. He dug into his trouser pocket and dropped them into her hand from a height sufficient to avoid accidentally touching her. “Wait here.” 

She walked off to Kosti’s bar and he watched her go. The animalistic man in him savoured the way her body moved smoothly with every step. The lovesick fool in him started to think of all they’d lost. His stomach burned. He sank onto the bench the the station and waited. 

It did not take her long to reappear, driving his car and he rose shakily. His face hurt as a small smile pressed at his lips. She waited for him to get in. Ordinarily she’d have helped him to get in but she as too terrified of touching him, afraid she wouldn’t be able to let go. He clambered clumsily into his own vehicle, beside her. 

He could see her bare knee where her skirt had risen up slightly when she’d changed gears and he felt sick for thinking of her in that way. He had never been able to not admire her beauty but now his thoughts were bordering on sin. And anyway, they were just friends now, if that. He had a wife to indulge in his urges with and yet he’d barely touched her in weeks. Their kisses cold and barely pecks of honourable routine. Oh how he wanted to kiss Louisa. 

Without the alcohol he was back to thinking of being between her thighs, her hands running up his back, in his hair as she panted towards ecstasy. 

He let out a groan of despair and hung his head over the car door. She looked at him.

“What’s wrong?” she said. He couldn’t know if she’d considered herself to be the cause of his ailment. He’d never been lovesick, but he was now. Literally. A stream of stale ouzo and bile came pouring out of his mouth and landed along the road as the drove. He was disgusted in himself. 

Louisa pulled the car onto the grass and ached to reach out to him. Her heart was breaking all over again.

“Oh Spiros,” she said softly. She wanted to take care of him. He had a wife for that. And the thought devastated her.

“Sorry. I didn’t want …” he said, holding his hands out, “this.”

Her eyes began to water so she looked away before he could see and she chewed on her lip. He sighed it was clear when she wasn’t going to speak.

“I don’t want to go home,” he said wistfully to the spot on the floor he was staring so intently at. Whilst Louisa believed it was because he didn’t want his family to see him this way, that was only half the truth. He just wanted to be near her.

“You’ve got some nasty cuts that need looking at, I can take you over to Doctor Petrides,” she said with a shaking voice. Her eyes roamed over him, specifically landed on his torn bicep. 

“No, I don’t want to go there either,” he said. His molten, yet damaged gaze met hers and his meaning was clear, hanging thick in the air between them.

Her heart rate spiked and she couldn’t remember how to speak so she nodded heavily and pulled the car back onto the road, and down the country roads that led to her house.

She hoped Larry or Margo were home to help take care of him so she could hide away. So she wouldn’t be tempted by their close proximity. But they weren’t. She swallowed as she watched him shuffle painfully to the kitchen. Where the hell was everyone else? Even Lugaretzia was AWOL. 

She pulled out a chair for him and handed him a glass of water. He drank greedily and thankfully. Louisa moved around the kitchen, gathering the small medical tin they kept and filling the kettle to boil the water she’d use to clean the dried blood away. He watched her flitting around trying her best to avoid touching him. Until she couldn’t avoid it any longer. 

She said something about needing to remove his shirt but she wasn’t sure if had come out legible. her fingers lightly grazed each button and slipped it from the corresponding holes. All the whilst trying to keep her breathing under control by reminding herself he was in need of medical attention, that this was no time for romantic urges. 

Spiros winced when she took his shirt off and he leaned in closer. She couldn’t fail to notice how their breath mingled. A warmth settled in the pit of her stomach. She was about to say something when the kettle whistled for attention and she leapt away from him to grab it. 

He rubbed a hand over his forehead, trying to shake the sexual urges threatening to derail any friendship that was left. She settled back in front of him and dipped cotton wool into the water. He looked out of the window intently whilst she dabbed at the cut on his bicep. She’d never noticed how muscly he was and a flashing image of him carrying her up the stairs burned into her mind until she was sure she was blushing. The thought of what they could have had made her eyes water. 

Louisa cleared her throat, blinking them away and tied a dressing around his arm. She saw the bruises mottling his skin and imagine they ran the length of his ribcage. The idea brought tears to her eyes for a different reason. Her heart cracked, seeing him so broken and fragile. She needed to clean the cuts on his face but he was staring off to the side, careful to avoid looking into the eyes he loved. She lifted a hand to his face cupping his cheek and turning his face slowly towards her. He looked…different. He didn’t resemble the Spiros who’d been her best friend for three years and he didn’t look like the Spiros that broke her heart five weeks ago. He looked lost. 

“I miss you,” he said and her breath hitched. 

She wanted to tell him she missed him too, wanted to fall into his arms and be happy. But she knew if she did, she’d tell him she loved him and that would lead to a new plateau of misery they couldn’t reach. She couldn’t tell him how she felt despite it being the thing she wanted to do most in the world. 

She pretended he hadn’t said, occupying herself with dropping cotton balls into the water, watching them sink when they became overburdened. She definitely tried to ignore the flicker of hurt in his eyes. 

When she had cleaned the wounds on his face, she turned her attention to his hand, the one that had held hers when she’d begged him to say her name one last time. She brushed a thumb over his damaged knuckles and took a shuddering breath. This was too painful.

He sucked in air sharply as she gently swiped at his sore skin and when she was done, neither dared to move. Their hands were almost interlocked and she stared at his skin. A tear slipped down her cheek. Then she did something she knew she shouldn’t but if she didn’t, she was sure she’d die. She took his hand in hers and kissed it delicately, holding it against her cheek.

“I miss you too,” she said as a sob worked free. He pulled his hand from hers and held her face on either side, stroking the tears away with his thumbs. It was wrong. He was married but it felt so right. 

Her eyes danced from his eyes, to his lips and she could see him moving closer. She knew what was coming and his mouth swallowed her gasp of surprise. A spark shot through to her stomach and she knew if they didn’t stop now they never would. But when he ran his tongue over hers, she knew he had no intentions of stopping and that was more than fine by her. 

His hand buried in her hair and she rested both of hers on his thighs, holding herself upright.

“Mum!! Come see what I found!” Gerry’s voice called through the front door and drifted around the side of the house.

They pulled apart quickly and she rose unsteadily to her feet. Only Spiros could turn her into a trembling wreck simply by touching her. When he stood up, they shared a lamentful expression. Neither knew where to go from here.


End file.
